GreatWave

I arrived at the address texted to me. This guy’s house was fucking massive, and I could hear some beats thumping on the other side of the wall. I wondered if he was throwing a rager, and if employees could join in! But first, I needed to get on his property. I pressed the buzzer by the door, which was quite small compared to the gate in front of me. “Zechariah Daddario,” I said into the buzzer. I hated my first name; all my friends called me “Zeke”. But this was a job interview, and it had to be formal, despite the clothes I was allowed to wear. 

A man’s staticy voice came out of the buzzer a few seconds later. “Come right on in,” said my soon-to-be boss, Evan Nordstrom. He said that I would be perfect for the job, considering everything I had sent in so far. The in-person interview was only a formality. I heard a click, and the gates opened. Well, I needed to pull it open, but given the size, it was actually surprisingly very easy. I entered the estate, at least that I think it’s called. I was a bit shocked by what I saw. 

There were gardeners working on the shrubs in front of me. Now, that’s not odd, but what was was that they were only wearing protective eye gear. Literally nothing was covered below the nose. Maybe working for Evan wasn’t for me, even though I needed this job. The COVID-19 pandemic had screwed with my life, and since I wasn’t college educated, this manual labor job would be perfect for me. Or so I thought. 

I turned around and tried to leave, only to find out that I couldn’t. There was no handle or anything on the gate from this side, and in front of the walls for a good six feet or so were rocks scattered on the ground. Decorative, small rocks that could not support a 195-pound man like me stacked up, even if it is mostly muscle. I turned back around and headed towards the house. I would have to explain to Evan that this job wasn’t really for me. I did enjoy the techno music he was playing though. I loved the beats, and that you could just make out someone speaking. That shit’s the best! 

As I walked to the pool, I noticed that those two gardeners were not alone in their odd way of dressing, which is to say no clothes at all. Drivers, waiters, and attendants were all completely naked, maybe with a hat on their head, but that was about it. Evan was the only one at the pool when I walked in. There was a whole bunch of staff by the house, and they were all naked, or at least pretty much naked. I made my way over to Evan. 

“Um, hey, sir, thanks for the job offer and all, but this shit’s not for me,” I said. 

“Oh, you can’t leave,” Evan said, turning his head to me and placing his drink on a little table. 

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Well,” Evan started, “for starters, you signed a verbal contract of employment. It’s not as good as a written one, but I have a couple lawyers under my control. Too bad I couldn’t dumb them down.” 

“Wait, what!?”

“I can see the dumbing down portion will be easier on you. All of these men were just like you, Zeke. Men who wanted jobs that I offered them. All of them fell under my trap, much like you are now.”

“What’s happening to me!?” I asked. I honestly wasn’t sure what the fuck Evan was doing to me, but I wanted to escape. 

“Those ‘sick beats’ you’ve been hearing? Those are actually binaural beats, slowly hypnotizing you and draining away some of your intelligence. And those faint words you can just barely hear? That’s subliminal messaging, hypnotizing you just a little more and making you into a subservient slave to me. Those remain on day and night, continually dumbing down and hypnotizing my employees.”

“Fuck, man, you’re never going to fuckin’ get away with this!” 

“Actually, I am. Two of the very first men I implemented this on were my bodyguards. Say hello to One and Two. They don’t need human names.” I turned and looked at the two beefy men stepping out of the house. They were massive, probably over 250 pounds or so of solid muscle. Naturally, I ran, but the men were surprisingly spry on their feet. They tackled me to the ground and then lugged me back to the deck. They put me down and then released me, but moved behind Evan. I knew I wasn’t that smart, but I did know what Evan was doing was asserting his dominance over me without even lifting a finger. I could run away again, but his goons were even closer now. “What the fuck do you want from me?” I seethed at Evan. 

“Well, according to the information you sent over, you have a pretty sizable cock. You’ll be a great addition to my harem.”

“Your what?”

“I thought a man like you might not understand, especially as he’s getting even more dumb. A harem is a group of people, men in my case, that exists only to serve their ruler, or master, sexually. You’ll be one of those men, but I also don’t like my men just lounging around doing nothing. It seems like you’ll be great for an assistant role.” 

“What the fuck is that?” I asked. It didn’t sound that horrible. 

“It’s a position I reserved for really dumb guys, like you. You’ll be a jack-of-all-trades, so to speak. You won’t have any specialized knowledge in anything. One and Two needed a crash course in bodyguarding, but if you’re with them, you’ll have to do what they say.”

“But I’m not dumb!” I protested. “I did graduate high school!” 

“Oh, I know, Zeke. And as I much as I love to chat with my newest slaves, you becoming a dumb muscle slave just through the hypnosis will take some time. Two, you know the drill.” The bodyguard lumbered back inside the house and returned with a needle in his hand. During that time, One had walked over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He was strong, and I was stuck here. Two handed the needle to Evan, who stood up and jabbed it right into my shoulder. He had an evil grin on his face as the needle was pressed deep into my skin. 

“FUCK!” I cried out, as whatever it was began coursing through my veins. Evan surprisingly answered my thought. “What you’ve just been injected with is a special formula of himbo powder. I don’t care about blonde hair or bubble butts, but I do care that my slaves are dumb and horny. 

“Me no dumb ‘n’ horny!” 

“I see it’s starting to affect your mind already. Let’s see if your cock is responding to the powder as well.” He pulled down my pants. I saw my big dick again! It’s hard and pointing at the sky. “I just love seeing the dumb look on my slave’s face as they see their erect cock for the first time.”

“E-rect?” I ask him. I no understand. 

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that anymore, Zeke. Remember, slaves don’t wear clothes.” Right! Me slave, so no clothes. No shirt, no pants, no undies, no socks, no shoes. 

“Good?”

“Yes, Zeke, it’s perfect. Follow One and Two to the harem. I’ll be there shortly to use you.”

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.

0. The Fool

Professor Hudson's gaze darted wearily from side to side as he surveyed the university's end-of-semester fair. He could see his stupid students running around, the occasional amorous couple practically devouring each other, athletes flexing, and some overweight guy stuffing himself with cotton candy. They all seemed so... idiotic.

Hudson was the typical academic who made life miserable for his students, always thinking he was a brilliant genius walking the earth (and, well, his almost three doctorates plus a master's degree only made him more arrogant and prone to exploding at the slightest idiotic action).

He despised athletes above all else, those fraternity members who didn't strive for anything other than getting ripped at the gym to impress girls, or even guys. All this talk about inclusion, for crying out loud. How could anyone prefer having muscles over brains? And it wasn't like he didn't take care of himself, of course he did, but he had brains.

— Stop running, you're going to cause an accident! – The professor practically barked at some students who were running around carelessly. Those brats were going to give him an aneurysm. 

His gaze lingered on one of the fair's tents; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, some for target games, others for food, and there were even photo booths, but this one The tent was different… It had intense, striking, yet calming blue colors on its walls and ceiling, and a scent that seemed to be sea breeze emanated from it.

In no time, the man was already walking inside. There was only very dim candlelight and… sand? He looked up, finding a young, blonde woman with a slight smile behind a glass table.

— Hello, welcome. Can I help you?

— I… Excuse me, what is this? – the man said, somewhat confused. He didn't even know how he had gotten there; it was as if an alluring, hypnotic force, almost pure magnetism, had drawn him in.

— Would you like me to tell your fortune? I think it's better if I explain it this way – Cirse moved the deck in her hands; the cards shifted elegantly from side to side, almost floating in the air. They were engraved with bluish details and vibrant colors, as if they wanted to convey the essence of the summer that was almost upon them.

— Fortune? – the man asked. He let out a mocking laugh, shaking his head – That's for charlatans and people without their own judgment. It's obviously false – He was about to turn away when she spoke again.

— Of course, it's easy to believe what you can see, but what's imperceptible to the human eye, that's what's truly fascinating. If you're a man of fact and not faith. Great philosophers have pondered this doubt, the real question here is… If you're so sure of your knowledge, why would it matter to put it to the test?

The professor's jaw tightened. The most sensible thing would have been to leave the shop and leave the woman alone, but the urge to prove a point took hold of him. He approached the table and sat down on the other side.

— Cost?

— Our first reading is always free – She winked at him confidently as she passed the cards from one side to the other. The sound between them was like clicks. Everything moved so quickly that he didn't have a second to distinguish the different cards. The Magician, Judgment, Fortune, Knight of Wands – everything moved like a hurricane until finally one touched the table, sliding across it. Circe's smile appeared like a painting, accompanied by a giggle.

— And what's that? 

She turned the card over to reveal the Fool.

— Wow, what a great turn… – she whispered, fascinated, touching the card with her elegant nails – The Fool card tells us about the beginning of a new journey, and I think it will be a very long one... With all the potential that's trapped inside you. And more than anything, liberation.

Her lips pronounced that last word as if it were silk, letter by letter. The candles slowly extinguished until the place was plunged into complete darkness. The man just rolled his eyes.

— Yes, yes, it's clear you know how to put on a good show. Can I go now? – The silence was total. Hudson sighed, about to stand up when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had to throw himself back down in the chair; it was a pain Disabled. Shit, was he having a heart attack? – Hello?! Something's wrong with me, I need help!

He expected to hear the woman's voice again, but only felt another pain in his ribs. He clenched his jaw, trying to stifle a scream, but it was useless. He felt as if his bones were being torn apart. He gripped the armrests tightly, gasping for breath.

— MFHHH! H-Help! – he pleaded again, desperately seeking someone's attention. Without hearing the way his clothes began to rustle, as if the seams were about to burst, the man groaned. Suddenly, his pectoral muscles expanded forward, like the yeast baking a cake fresh from the oven. He felt his shirt begin to tighten, trying to accommodate his new changes, but without much success. Buttons flew off, and the "elegant" sweater he was wearing ripped like cracks in an earthquake. The pain was excruciating; his skin burned. Something similar was happening to his lower torso, his abs heating up to melt away all the accumulated fat. His years-long belly began to reintegrate with the rest of his body, leaving behind a well-defined six-pack and a glistening, pearly complexion.

— MFHH! M-Miss! – He shouted again, a burp escaping his lips inexplicably. He tried to cover his mouth when he felt another one, but instead felt a tingling in his arms that quickly filled with that same wave of energy, expanding in a snap of his fingers. His biceps were defined, though not usually so exaggerated, but now they had grown exponentially, as if he were a gym addict. His armpits, usually hairless, were now covered in hair, and a strong smell hit his nose. Shit, why did he smell like a gym? It was the same smell that filled his classroom when the damn athletes came in after a rigorous training session. The aroma left him so confused that he didn't realize when the sensation shifted to his legs, his muscles beginning to expand, using stored fat to transform it into pure, dense muscle. The man groaned, feeling his pants begin to rip.

— Shit! No! – He watched as his tailored trousers tore to shreds, his boxers tightening as his tool began to mutate in the same way. He was well-endowed, a good 15cm, but these began to grow longer and longer, becoming heavier, thicker, and longer. His balls followed suit, becoming more rounded and filled with that precious whitish fluid. The sensation was still uncomfortable, but there was a more lustful charge in these final stimuli. The man gasped, his tongue lolling out, caressing himself as the transformation moved down to shape his calves. Again, the changes accelerated in his feet. The khaki shoes ended up torn and shredded as his feet grew, smelling and sweaty. Hudson let out a loud, confused groan, his face flushed.

— S-shit, t-this isn't right – he stammered, trying to stand. He paced aimlessly, trying to lean against the table for air, but his shoulders and back swelled, becoming larger and more massive. The stern professor's careless hand brushed against his manhood, panting. Slowly, he felt his rear end begin to grow and become rounder, as if air were being pumped into a pair of shiny balloons. The little that remained of his clothing tightened around the new shape. The air was warm, though a loud thud from his buttocks shattered it completely – PPFFRHHHHT.

His stomach ached as if tons of protein were inside him. Another thunderous fart escaped. The professor had no idea what was happening.

— N-no, it can't be – He tried to take another step forward, another burp escaping his lips. He was so desperate and confused that he didn't even notice the body he now had, which bore no resemblance to his usual physique. It looked as if his head had been attached to the body of some college athlete, and in fact, that was the extent of the change.

Energy surged up his spine to his neck.

— Shit! – What came out of his mouth was a sound completely foreign to his polite and refined tone. Now it was deep, resonant, as if he didn't have many brain cells. His voice sounded almost 20 years younger, hmmm! Little by little, his neck changed, becoming more muscular and rugged.

A huge Adam's apple rose, and his skin gradually became smoother, perfect, like that of a high-level athlete. His chin sculpted, and every trace of a double chin disappeared in the blink of an eye. His cheeks followed the same path, becoming firmer, his nose more upturned, his head grew a little, his old glasses broke from the sides and fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

— MFHH! SOMEONE HELP! – he shouted again, his voice unfamiliar to him. The transformation reached his hair, turning it a deeper brown, styled in a shorter, more modern way. The man was slamming against the walls. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Like a jolt of energy, he suddenly froze, face up, his eyes slightly crossed, his mouth ajar with saliva escaping.

— Ughh… – He was almost in a catatonic state, only grunts and guttural sounds escaping his thick throat – Mfhhh…

His eyes remained almost blank. Apparently, from the outside, nothing was happening. But inside his mind, it was as if the Library of Alexandria were under fire again; all his knowledge, his academic degrees, everything was being thrown away while something else was forming in its place. Why worry so much about IQ when he could keep training to grow those fantastic pecs? Hehehe, one more size and he'd have to wear a sports bra, hehe. His brain was slowly slowing down as other priorities tore down each of the islands that were important to him in his psyche. Goodbye to teaching, hello to partying. Why would he be interested in teaching others when he was barely in college, bro? What kind of nerd would he be?

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He wouldn't have a fixed preference; bread is for everyone to enjoy, right? He'd be like a beast in bed, bro! Although nervous twinks were definitely his weakness, hammering them for hours, so damn sweaty. With that damn stench emanating from every part of their bodies that he loved so much.

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He could sweat like nobody else on campus; they called him "Stinky Danny" for a reason. Ha, his farts were fucking legendary! They smell like tear gas, but he loved them – pure protein, honey!

The old, strict, and bitter professor was a complete jock now. The image of the student he so detested, the one he thought was a waste of student funds, was now Danny. 

The good old Danny, a member of the football team – hopefully he'd be captain someday, stinky, he spent more time in the gym than in his classes, which were fucking boring. He didn't think much, duh. He'd gotten into college on an athletic scholarship; he could pay some nerd to do his homework for him (or better yet, do it "in person").

The whirlwind of hormones and testosterone settled within him, his tool still hard, as were his areolas. His hand automatically moved to the area, beginning to stroke it back and forth, lost in this final mental transformation. One drop and it would completely seal off this change; there would be no going back, no more Professor Hudson, no more teaching, only being a stupid jock.

— MFHH! I-I… I… This is wrong! H-help. I-I… – The deep, gravelly voice of the new college student body rang out, his eyes rolling back in his head again. He tried to speak, but a jet of whitish substance shot out like an avalanche, spreading the stench of dampness and chlorine everywhere. His thick pecs rose and fell before his vision slowly cleared.

— Ugh, shit, my head, bro – he muttered. Around him, only the rest of the fair remained; it couldn't have been more than five in the afternoon. Perfect for finding his fraternity bros and going on other rides. Shit, he even saw a guy working at the mirror house earlier; he was so cute. Maybe he could convince him to take him downstairs and show him how good he was at hide-and-seek, damn, hehe.

The jock stretched a little. Inhaling the scent of his hairy armpits, he stroked his pecs; he looked fantastic. He'd been training nonstop for when summer came. He planned to go to the beach in the tiniest swimsuit he could find. He might go with his friends for the holidays, or even by himself. He didn't want to share all the hotties he'd hook up with when he was in the middle of the saltwater and sand. Ah… It felt so good to be free. Screw college.

— BRAWWWPP – he blurted out, letting out a laugh and shaking his head as he walked away, patting his belly. Those hot dogs hadn't agreed with him, haha. Lol. Danny let out a soft laugh as he scratched his fat butt with his hand. He loved being a stinky, farting jock so much, ha. Wait, why did he have some kind of handkerchief in his pocket? Ugh, like he's some kind of refined loser or something, get ready world, because Stinky Danny is here to have some fun, booyaaaah!

Circe could only watch from afar as old Professor Hudson, now ridiculously improved in all his glory (well, surely if he were still aware of his new appearance, he'd be going crazy), but that was the least of her concerns.

— Mwhaaaa – she heard a kind of soft, gentle grunt from her bag, and she just patted it.

— Shhh, calm down – she whispered into her deck of cards – I promise there will be more transformations soon. Litha is just around the corner, and magical energy is more abundant – She seemed to feel the air around her, taking in the sea breeze, the color of seashells etched against the sky, the refreshing sound of waves crashing against the shore – I think I know exactly where we need to go, buddy. Let's go.

----

Hey 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. Summer it's almost here, and as you know, I love writing with the thematic of the months / seasons. So in the next months, I'll try to write about summer transformation, bodyswap, possessions and more.

I really love writing about this Tarot series, so. I have a question for you:

The cards of The Lovers, The Strenght, The Justice, The Tower, The Star, The Moon and The Judgement are available on my blog. If you have any particular ideas, I'd love to hear them. Thank you!

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?

BAM!!! 1 BAM 2

“Fuck this, man. I don’t want to read subtitles”

Scott was your average American. He wasn’t too smart either. So when his roommate put on a Spanish film with subtitles, Scott rolled his eyes and immediately turned it off. Scott took the disc out of the DVD player and chucked it out the widow. But what Scott didn’t know was, the DVD was actually cursed.

Over the next few weeks, Scott experienced some changes. His white complexion slowly became darker. His skin beginning to look more... tan. More hispanic. But Scott was oblivious to the change. He just thought he was getting a good tan. He had been playing football with his bros in the sun after all.

Scott’s body had gotten bigger too. His muscles slowly grew over the weeks. The growth was noticeable. Scott’s lean body had gotten bulkier. His lean pecs jutted out becoming big and round. His biceps became as big as a body builder’s. But Scott wasn’t going to complain. He was starting to get bigger than all his bros. Anyway, it’s probably cause he’s been spending so much time in the gym, right?

Scott’s body hair progressively got darker and thicker over the weeks. He would try and shave it off, but his body hair would just grow back throughout the day. He would shave his face in the morning only to have a full thick beard in the evening. His once hairless chest had grown a thick pelt. His shaved armpits now covered in hair.

Scott dismissed it. Maybe it was just all that testosterone in his body. Scott only started to worry when strangers began to assume he was hispanic. Store clerks would talk to him in Spanish. The girls he went on dates would often ask when he moved to America. Scott was always offended by these assumptions. He was as American as they come, right? How could anyone mistake him for some hispanic?

On the third week of the curse, everything changed. Scott woke up unable to speak a word of English. He screamed and shouted in his new Spanish accent. His mind began to be erased. It emptied and emptied until he couldn’t even remember his own name. Scott stood mindlessly in his room. His new big hulking hairy body stagnant as he stared vacantly at the empty wall. His face relaxed. His jaw hanging open. Suddenly, Scott began moaning. His mind being filled with memories. New memories. Memories of a life in Mexico. All memories of every having ever lived in America were wiped from his mind. All he remembered is that his name was Juan. He was born in Mexico City. He’s always had dreams of moving to America. But he just can’t bring himself to do it. He loves Mexico too much. Juan’s surroundings shifted into a cheap dirty apartment in Mexico City. His wardrobe began to change, filling itself with Mexican attire.

Juan was ready to begin his life. He confidently strode out of his bedroom. He looked at the TV to see that a Spanish film was playing. The same Spanish film from his past life. Juan grinned.

“¡Mi película favorita!” Juan laughed.

Scott definitely won’t be needing any Spanish subtitles anymore.

...Only to find that his profile has been replaced by a wall of thirst traps from exactly the kind of guy he most looks down on: some totally basic gym gay, with plenty of muscles but nothing behind the eyes, flexing and showing off his armpits. Huh?

[This Quick and Dirty story was written by a human (me) based on a prompt that was previously sent to generative AI. I wrote it in one uninterrupted stream-of-consciousness flow with a hard time limit of 20 minutes. It is not perfect. No edits have been made, except to correct typos. Feel free to use my asks to send me more prompts!]

My name is Devlin, and I’m a photographer. My ex-boyfriend, who is also my best friend and my business partner for a coffee pop-up we’re trying to get off the ground, says I should share more of my photography online. He says it will help me build a “following.” I don’t know why I’m expected to bend over backwards to cater to the lowest-common-denominator tastes of social media, but he’s right.

I’ve been posting my black-and-white photography on Instagram for a few months now, and I’ve already gotten a few pieces in galleries because of it.

So I heave a sigh at the necessary evil as I open Instagram to upload my newest piece, a self-portrait titled “A Quandary of Nature.”

I’m just about to hit the button to upload a new image when I notice that my profile picture in the corner looks different. I click on it and my whole profile pops up. I see my name and username, so I’m clearly still logged in, but I must have been hacked or something. All the photos I posted are gone, replaced by a series of inane selfies from some muscled-up influencer-looking guy who looks dumb as a bag of bricks. He looks like probably calls these images “content.” It makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit.

In the most recent image, he’s showing off his armpits.

He’s also showing them off in the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that… And so on. I scroll and scroll until I hit the bottom, where there’s an image of a visibly younger version of the hunk… showing off his armpits.

What is it with striking the same pose over and over again? I get that he’s probably figured out armpits are good for engagement or something, but I fear that he simply doesn’t have the vision to come up with more creative shots. Watching this page is like seeing art and culture stagnate before my eyes.

Clearly I’ve been hacked. I’m not very familiar with the Instagram interface, but I’m sure there must be a way to report hacking. I click around to try and find it, and I accidentally open the camera, revealing an image of myself and the wall behind me.

And something is… changing. My bleached hair is slowly losing its color, fading back to my natural brown as it rearranges into a shorter, trendier cut that falls in choppy waves over my forehead. My glasses disappear. My cheekbones rise, my jaw straightens, and my eyes dull, both in color and in vibrance.

I assume this is one of those weird in-app things that Instagram people insist are called “filters,” because why make up a new word when you can steal one from the photography lexicon that already means something?

But when I reach up to touch my forehead, I can feel the hair rustling against it. The arm I’ve raised also looks swollen, like it's been stung by a whole hive of bees. I look away from my phone and down at my arm, which is growing meatier by the second, swelling to what must be four times its original size.

A quick glance to my left shows that the same thing is happening with my other arm. And a glance down shows… nothing. My pecs have already swelled to such a mountainous size that I can’t see anything past them. But I pat my stomach, which is now tight and muscular. My thighs are, too.

Fuck. Somehow, I’ve instantly transformed into a gym-honed tool, who - to be honest - looks exactly like the guy from those Instagram photos. The one difference is that I still have my mustache. I know I should be freaking out, but something is dulling my reactions and all I can think about is how glad I am to still have my mustache. It feels like a connection to the real me. Proof that I am still myself, at my core, even if I look totally different.

I am still an artistic, intelligent guy with great taste who… Wait, what am I doing?

My elbow is sticking straight up in the air, as if I’m trying to show off my armpit, even though I’m wearing a shirt.

I snap a photo. I don’t know why. I just do. I’m a photographer. It’s only natural, I guess.

But fuck, I just took a thirst trap selfie that looks exactly like every other photo in the goddamn library that got hacked onto my account!

But also… I look fucking hot. With my finger, I trace the unimaginably huge bulge of my biceps, my strong, stubbled jaw… I accidentally hit post.

In shock, I close out of Instagram and throw my phone across the room. I look at myself in the mirror and strike a double-armpit pose. Fuck! What’s wrong with me?

When I do it, my brain goes fuzzy for an instant, giving me a strangely pleasurable feeling. My dick chubs up in my pants.

I raise my left arm. The fuzzy feeling comes back, and my dick rises to full mast. I raise my right to join it, and my brain tingles like I’m getting a blow job while eating an ice cream cone. I feel… fucking good, man.

Wait, no. This isn’t me. I snap out of it and grab my phone. I open my photography app, make sure to use the black-and-white option (the only option, in my opinion), and try to take a selfie at a fun, unique angle that proves how artful and smart I am. I hold the camera low, and…

This is how it turns out.

At least my armpits aren’t out.

After I hit “post,” I raise both arms again, out of habit, and feel my brain instantly obliterated by fuzziness. I feel so good I cum in my pants, even. By the time I lower my arms, I’ve forgotten what I was so worried about.

All I can think about is how goddamn good I look, and how I need the world to share in the joy that is my beautiful body.

I change and take a another picture, to bank some content for later.

I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my office chair, the glow of my monitor lighting up my face. It was our twelfth session. Sohil’s video feed filled most of the screen. He was shirtless again, sitting in his gaming chair in is room, one thick arm draped lazily over the backrest. His dark chest hair was still slightly damp, like he’d just come back from the gym.

Sohil Kapoor. Thirty-two. Bisexual. Sex addict.

At least that’s what he called himself.

“Evening, Dr. Reddin,” he said with that familiar half-smirk. His voice had that deep, easy confidence that always carried a hint of mischief.

“Hello, Sohil,” I replied calmly, keeping my tone professional. “How have things been since our last session?”

He let out a tired laugh and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Same old shit. Made it nine days this time with this guy I really liked… then I fucked his best friend in the parking lot after drinks.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think there’s something actually broken in me. Like physically. Other people can control themselves. I can’t. Its like my dick has its own fucking brain.”

I nodded, listening carefully. I’d heard variations of this from him for months now. His friends had pushed him into therapy after yet another destroyed relationship. He was charming, successful, and objectively very attractive — which only made the pattern more destructive.

“We’ve discussed open relationships,” I said. “You mentioned your last attempt didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, because even with permission I still broke every rule. Especially the condom one. I need to feel it raw. The second there’s latex I lose half the sensation and it just… doesn’t do it for me.” He sighed heavily.

I paused, tapping my pen against my notepad. We had made some progress, but it was slow. Too slow. I knew it was time to suggest something more radical.

“Sohil,” I said carefully, “I’d like to propose an unconventional treatment option. One I only use in really rare cases.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the camera. “What is it?”

I met his eyes through the screen.

“Body swapping. A temporary therapeutic exchange. I would enter your body, and you would enter mine. It would allow me to experience your impulses and urges directly. To understand the intensity of what you’re dealing with from the inside. That level of insight could help me develop far more effective strategies for managing your compulsions.”

Sohil stared at me for a long moment, his mouth slightly open.

“You’re… serious?”

“Very,” I said. “It’s not without risks, and it’s not something I suggest lightly. But after six months, I believe this may be what we need to make real progress.”

I watched his face carefully. There was surprise, hesitation… and something else.

He swallowed visibly.

“Ok… so when can we do it?”

---

The following week, we logged onto our scheduled Zoom session. Sohil appeared on my screen looking unusually tense, sitting in the same spot on his couch.

“How are you feeling about the swap? Are you ready?” I asked, keeping my voice steady and clinical.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? Nervous as hell. But also… kind of excited? I’ve been like this my whole adult life. If you can actually feel what it’s like in here,” he gestured to his own body, “maybe you’ll finally get it. Maybe you can help me fix it.”

We spent most of the session discussing boundaries, consent, and the temporary nature of the procedure. Toward the end, I walked him through the final steps.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Sohil nodded. “Let’s do it.”

We both initiated the swap through the secure therapeutic portal. There was a bright flash across my screen, a dizzying rush, and then everything shifted.

When my vision cleared, I was no longer looking at my monitor from my office chair.

I was looking at it from Sohil’s couch.

A massive wave of heat crashed over me instantly. My — his — cock thickened rapidly in my pants, throbbing with urgent need. The intensity was staggering. My thoughts grew hazy as raw, aggressive horniness flooded my system. I gripped the edge of the couch, trying desperately to maintain professional composure.

On the screen, Sohil — now in my body — let out a long, relieved exhale. He adjusted my glasses and smiled softly.

“Wow… I can actually think,” he said, sounding lighter than I’d ever heard him. “No constant noise in my head. This is… peaceful.”

I forced a professional tone, even as my new cock continued to pulse insistently between my legs. “That’s… excellent, Sohil. So as I said, we’ll remain in these bodies for the next few weeks. This will give me time to fully understand your urges and begin implementing strategies while I’m in your body. We can get your physical routines and habits started on the right track.”

As I spoke, my eyes drifted down to the screen — to the slight cleavage visible in the blouse I had been wearing. God, is that really how he saw me every session? I made a mental note to dress far more modestly once we swapped back.

Sohil cleared his throat. “Dr. Reddin?”

I blinked, snapping back to attention. “Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a moment.” I continued explaining the plan, trying to sound composed, but the throbbing between my legs was becoming unbearable.

Under the table, my hand moved almost on its own. I unbuttoned Sohil’s pants, wrapped my fingers around his thick, hard cock, and started stroking slowly. The pleasure was overwhelming. I kept talking, voice slightly strained, while pumping faster, getting dangerously close to the edge.

“…and we’ll check in regularly to monitor progress,” I finished, barely holding it together.

“Sounds good,” Sohil said, nodding in my body.

I ended the call as quickly as possible.

The second the screen went black, I let out a shaky breath. Not even thirty seconds later, I came hard. Thick ropes of cum shot across the underside of the table as Sohil’s cock pulsed violently in my hand. My vision whited out for a moment from the intensity.

I sat there panting, staring at the mess I’d made.

Damn… this guy’s body was horny.

Sohil hadn’t been exaggerating at all.

---

Over the next couple of days, I tried to resist.

I really did.

But Sohil’s body had other plans.

The first morning I put on one of his tight black t-shirts. The fabric stretched across his broad chest and hugged his biceps perfectly. Just the feeling of the material clinging to my new arms as I moved sent a low throb through my cock. I had to sit down for a minute and breathe through it.

Later that afternoon I went for a walk. A light breeze picked up and rippled his loose tank top against my chest. The soft fabric dragged across my nipples and I instantly hardened in my shorts. I had to stop and pretend to tie my shoe just so I could adjust myself discreetly.

At the grocery store, a young woman in a slightly low-cut top reached for something on a high shelf. The way her breasts pressed together as she stretched made my mouth go dry. I stood there frozen for several seconds, staring, before I forced myself to look away. My cock was already half-hard in my sweatpants.

Then there was my neighbor — a tall, muscular guy who walked out shirtless to grab his mail. The sight of his defined chest and abs glistening in the sun made something primal surge through me. I stood at the window watching him longer than I should have, my hand unconsciously pressing against the growing bulge in my pants.

Every single time, no matter how minor the trigger, I ended up painfully hard.

And without fail, the moment I got home I went straight to Sohil’s bedroom. I’d strip down completely naked, climb onto his bed, and wrap my hand around his thick cock. I’d stroke myself furiously, sometimes for less than five minutes, before I came hard — thick loads splattering across my hairy stomach and chest.

Yesterday I made it through the entire day without touching myself until I got home. Today I only lasted until 2 PM before I was back in his room, pants around my ankles, jerking off like a man possessed while staring at myself in the full-length mirror.

This body was insatiable.

I thought going to the gym might help burn off some of the constant energy. But it just made everything worse.

The moment I walked into Sohil’s gym wearing one of his tank tops and shorts, I felt eyes on me. His body drew attention — broad shoulders, thick arms, the way his chest hair peeked out from the neckline. Every time I lifted weights, the pump in my biceps and pecs made my cock twitch. The burn in my muscles somehow translated straight into arousal.

By the third set of bench presses I was fully hard. I had to practically sprint to the locker room stalls. I locked myself in one, dropped my shorts, and jerked off furiously, biting my lip to stay quiet. I came in under two minutes, shooting against the stall door. Even after that, I was still half-hard.

Even then I couldn’t control myself. I started approaching people — a pretty woman doing squats in tight leggings, a muscular guy checking himself out in the mirror. I was way too forward. Told the woman she had an incredible ass and asked if she wanted to grab a smoothie after her workout. Told the guy his arms looked strong and offered to spot him… then immediately suggested we spot each other somewhere more private. Both of them gave me polite but very clear rejections.

I stood there in the middle of the gym, Sohil’s face flushed with embarrassment and lingering arousal, realizing how desperate I must have looked. This body didn’t just want sex — it craved it constantly, and it had no filter.

---

By day six, I was losing the battle.

After another humiliating rejection at the gym and two more desperate jerk-off sessions at home, I gave in and downloaded Grindr on Sohil’s phone.

The app opened and immediately flooded the screen with nearby profiles. Shirtless torsos, hard cocks, hungry stares. Within minutes the messages started pouring in.

“Damn dude you’re hot as fuck.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Hosting right now if you wanna come through.”

I told myself I was just researching. Just trying to understand the scale of his compulsions. But my cock was already rock hard as I scrolled through the endless stream of willing men.

There were so many. Hot guys. Fit guys. Hung guys. Some wanted to fuck me. Most wanted me to fuck them.

I started chatting with one guy — mid-20s, muscular, only two blocks away. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent him a face pic and told him I could be there in ten minutes.

The moment I stepped into his apartment, any last shred of professional restraint vanished. He barely had the door closed before I had him pinned against the wall, kissing him hard. Within minutes I had him bent over his couch, fucking him raw and deep while he moaned loudly.

It felt incredible.

The power, the heat, the raw physical pleasure of pounding into someone with Sohil’s thick cock — it was overwhelming. I came hard inside him, groaning as I filled him up. He asked if I wanted to go again. I did.

I ended up staying for almost two hours.

When I finally left, legs shaky, I felt a strange mix of shame and satisfaction. On the walk home my cock was already stirring again at the memory.

That night I opened Grindr again.

---

After a few days of nonstop Grindr hookups — sometimes two or three different guys in a single day — the novelty started to wear off. The sex was good, intense even, but something was missing.

I needed pussy.

Tinder proved much slower and more frustrating. The matches came in, but the back-and-forth flirting took time I didn’t want to waste. My patience was nonexistent in this body.

I knew it was a terrible idea. Unethical. A complete violation of every professional boundary. But the urge was louder than reason.

I opened the camera on Sohil’s phone and took a series of thirst traps — shirtless in the mirror, flexing his biceps, one with his hand pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to show the thick base of his cock. I sent them to my own number.

The message I typed made my stomach twist even as I hit send:

“I know you want to get fucked by yourself. I just know you want to feel your old cock deep in that pussy.”

I stared at the sent messages, heart racing.

Three dots appeared, then stopped. Then appeared again.

Before he could reply, the images and words hit me like gasoline on a fire. I was so turned on I couldn’t wait. I shoved my pants down, wrapped my hand around Sohil’s throbbing cock, and jerked off furiously on the couch to the fantasy of fucking my own body. I came hard within minutes, groaning loudly as thick ropes of cum splattered across my hairy chest.

The second the orgasm faded, cold reality crashed down on me.

What the hell did I just do?

I quickly sent a string of apologetic messages:

“I’m so sorry. That was completely inappropriate.” “I lost control. That was unprofessional and wrong.” “Please forgive me.”

Sohil (in my body) replied a few minutes later:

“No worries doc lol. I understand exactly what that feeling is like. Trust me.”

I let out a shaky breath, still half-hard despite just cumming.

“I’m going to figure this out,” I typed back, trying to sound more in control than I felt. “I’m going to find a real way to help you manage these urges. I promise.”

I set the phone down and looked at myself in the mirror — Sohil’s muscular, hairy body staring back at me, cum still drying on my abs.

---

I tried to resist.

I really, really tried.

I deleted Grindr twice. I went to the gym and forced myself to focus only on lifting. I tried meditation apps, cold showers, even jerking off six times in one day just to take the edge off. Nothing worked. The horniness always came back stronger, like a constant buzzing under my skin that refused to be ignored.

One night, I put on one of Sohil’s tight black shirts and a pair of fitted jeans and went to a gay bar downtown. The place was packed and loud. Within twenty minutes I locked eyes with a cute, twinky guy in his mid-twenties with messy light brown hair, smooth skin, and a hungry look in his eyes. He was exactly my type.

We barely spoke.

I walked straight up to him, grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him in for a rough kiss. He melted against me immediately. No names. No small talk. I took his hand and led him straight to the bathroom.

The moment the stall door locked, I spun him around, yanked his pants down, and shoved him forward against the wall. I pulled my own cock out, barely taking time to spit on it before I pushed inside him.

“Fuck…” he moaned loudly as I sank in deep.

I started thrusting hard, one hand gripping his hip, the other braced against the stall wall. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the small space.

“Sohil… fuck, Sohil,” he gasped, moaning my — Sohil’s — name.

A dark thrill shot through me.

“Fuck yeah,” I growled, pounding into him harder.

“Sohil… oh my god—”

Hearing him moan while I was balls-deep inside him made something primal take over. I fucked him with long, powerful strokes, gripping his waist tight as I drove into him again and again.

I didn’t last long. The way his tight hole clenched around my thick cock — it was too much. I buried myself deep and came hard, groaning as I filled him up.

I was still catching my breath, cock softening inside him, when reality started to crash back in.

The guy I had just raw-fucked in a public bathroom stall was Drew — one of my other therapy clients. Mid-twenties, gender-questioning, sweet but anxious. I had been seeing him for months. I had been too horny to even recognize him until now.

Then it hit me.

He had been moaning “Sohil” the entire time.

I never told him my — Sohil’s — name.

I pulled out slowly, heart pounding for a completely different reason now.

“Do we… know each other?” I asked, voice rough.

The guy — Drew — turned around with a lazy, satisfied grin that looked completely out of place on his face. He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on Sohil’s cock.

“I think I would recognize my own former body,” he said casually. “And damn… its dick feels good. I get why people put up with me even though I was such a cheater.”

I froze.

“Wait… Sohil?”

He smirked. “Hey, Doc.”

I stared at him — at my client’s body — in complete disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing in Drew’s body?”

Sohil (in Drew’s smaller, twinky frame) shrugged, still breathing hard from getting fucked.

“Drew’s been seeing you too, right? He’s been talking about wanting to transition for a while. Really wanted a woman’s body to start figuring shit out. So I offered him a swap. He gets your body — soft, feminine. I get his cute little gay body with way less constant horniness. Win-win.”

He reached down and gave Sohil’s cock — my current cock — a playful squeeze, still slick from being inside him.

“I’ve been having a great time, honestly. This body is so much easier to manage. I can actually think straight. I could get used to this. Could maybe even see myself getting into a relationship. Meanwhile, you’ve been living my old life…” He raised an eyebrow. “How’s that been going for you, Doc?”

I stood there, pants still open, cum slowly leaking down Drew’s thigh, trying to process everything.

Sohil in Drew’s body just smiled sweetly.

“By the way… you fuck really good in my body.”

My cock twitched and started hardening again almost immediately, still slick from being inside him. I was furious — at Sohil, at myself, at this entire situation — but the anger only seemed to make the arousal worse. The rational part of my brain was screaming that I needed to stop, to think clearly, to regain control.

But Sohil — or Drew, or whoever the hell he was right now — was right here. Convenient. Already bent over, his hole glistening with my cum, still slightly open and twitching.

I grabbed his hips and pushed back inside him in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck, Doc,” he moaned in Drew’s lighter voice, pushing back against me. “Round two already?”

I didn’t answer. I just started fucking him again, harder this time, my hips slapping against his ass. The wet, filthy sound of my cock sliding through my own load filled the stall. Every thrust felt better than the last. My mind was fogging over again, thoughts becoming slippery and unfocused.

We could switch it all back… if only…

I tried to hold onto the thought, but it kept sliding away.

If only… what was I trying to do again?

The question dissolved as pleasure took over. I gripped his waist tighter and pounded into him, grunting with each deep stroke. Sohil in Drew’s body moaned loudly, clearly loving every second.

“God, you really can’t control it, can you?” he gasped between thrusts, sounding amused. “Feels good though, doesn’t it?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to pull out and walk away. But instead I fucked him even harder, chasing that building pressure again, my balls tightening as I got closer to another orgasm.

It was an accident!

Maybe my story may be a bit strange, if I told someone everything that happened they might not believe and they would even take me for a liar or even worse, a madman!

Okay, it all started the morning of my twentieth birthday, I had decided to get up early to finish a chemistry project and then take the day off.

I was one of the few college students who stayed in the college dorms for the summer. The truth is that I felt more comfortable than home, I had more privacy here, and also I didn't have the money to go on vacation so I didn't have a choice either.

That day I woke up at 5 AM, I did the usual, I took a shower, got dressed and left the building thinking of going to the laboratory that was only a 5 minute walk away.

I stayed in the laboratory for about 2 hours, manipulating substances to obtain potassium hydroxide , basically an ice-like bleach which is very harmful to the skin.

After obtaining the finished substance, I had to store it in the only container I had nearby, a plastic ice cream box. I took it and went back to the residence.

Upon arriving at the entrance, I meet Naor, an international student from Israel. He also stayed at the residence during the summer because his country was far away and it was better for him to stay. Although we greet each other, Naor was one of the few guys in the residence who knew that today was my birthday, he had just arrived from the gym and had asked me to follow him to his apartment so that he could give me a present that he had bought for me.

- "Why are you bringing a box of ice cream?" Naor asked me as we walked up the stairs.

- "What, ehhm this? Ahh it's nothing, it's just ice." I replied.

Naor was the friendliest of the popular jocks, he didn't study chemistry so saying "potassium hydroxide " would only have confused him even more, so I just preferred to tell him it was just only ice.

When he opens the door, I immediately get that sweaty smell of him, permeating the entire room. I needed to go to the bathroom so I put the box on the table. He poured a glass of water, as he didn't have ice in his fridge he innocently took two ice cubes out of my ice cream box and put them in his glass of water.

While he was in the bathroom, he had drunk the substance and then began to gag in his throat.

- "agggh, waghh". I heard from the bathroom and then a very loud noise, as if Naor had fallen to the floor.

- "Naor are you okay?" I said, I immediately rushed out and when I found him, he was lying on the ground emitting a strange noise from his mouth.

I looked at the table and realize that he has taken a cube from the box. With the phone in hand, about to call the ambulance, I touch his face. It was so soft that you could even tell that the texture of him looked like silk, his body had deflated and he felt like he was made of a stretchy material.

I try to pick him up, but his body looks more like a costume than a person, then all of his clothes fall to the ground.

I had no words to describe it, I take off my clothes and then I try to put his skin on as if it were a Bodysuit, when introducing my two legs I feel a spasm of his skin in the area of ​​his cock, now mine.

I continue dressing in his furry skin until I get to his heavy, big biceps, feeling all of his muscles as I spread my hands up inside of his body.

I finish with his head, matching his lips with mines. Amazed by my new now naked physique, I turn to the mirror admiring every part of his body.

Then I hear someone knock on the door, and I quickly putted on his clothes and open the door after, pretending to be Naor.

- "Wassup bro, are you going or not?" Said Chad, one of the most popular jocks and Naor's friend.

- "Yeah bro, give me a minute" I said with my new baritone voice, I took a backpack and put on some t-shirts that I had found in his closet, a deodorant and little else.

I think I will have a good time inside Naor's body, anyway maybe I could have been a little to blame but, I swear it was an accident!