Final Part: The Truth can hurt.
—Prologue—
—Part 1—
—Part 2—
Mr. Chen’s smirk deepened as he watched Junhao wrestle with his own longing. The tension was thick in the air, charged with unspoken desire, humiliation, and something darker—acceptance.
He reclined further into his chair, spreading his thick legs, giving JunHao the full display of his superior form. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate movements, knowing full well how mesmerizing his body had become. Each muscle, sculpted and hardened through his efforts—JunHao’s past dedication, but now perfected under Mr. Chen’s reign.
“You spent years training this body,” Mr. Chen continued, rolling his shoulders, letting the immense weight of his own superiority settle over the room. “But you never unlocked its true potential.”
JunHao’s breath hitched again. His fingers twitched against his thighs, itching—aching—to reach out and touch what had once been his.
Mr. Chen noticed.
And yet, there was something… unfinished.
“Tell me, JunHao,” Mr. Chen mused, flexing his bicep just to watch the thick, sculpted muscle peak. “Do you miss it?”
JunHao’s breath hitched. His eyes flickered up, meeting Mr. Chen’s, then immediately dropped back down to the very body he once called his own.
“Miss… what?” JunHao asked, though they both knew the answer.
Mr. Chen smirked. “This,” he said simply, running a hand down his chest, over his hardened abs, relishing the way the grooves of his muscles responded under his touch. “The power. The perfection. The body you spent years building… only for me to take it to new heights.”
JunHao shuddered, his fists clenching against his own thighs.
Mr. Chen leaned forward, his smirk widening. “I’ll give you a chance,” he said smoothly. “A chance to step back into what was once yours. To feel every fiber of strength, every ounce of virility that I’ve cultivated. Maybe then you’ll truly understand how much work I’ve put into my body.”
JunHao’s eyes widened. He should have said no. He should have resisted. But the temptation was too much.
“…You’d let me back into my own body?” he whispered.
Mr. Chen chuckled, tilting his head. “Of course,” he said. “Its my body now, but I want you to know what you lost. To feel what true greatness is. I want you to know how it feels to be me.” He reached out, his fingers gripping JunHao’s chin firmly. ““When you realize you can’t measure up to the man I’ve become and when you fail to handle it… you’ll know why it belongs to me.” Mr. Chen breathed against his lips, his grip tightening, his biceps flexing in raw power.
His voice was final. Undeniable.
And deep down, although JunHao accepted, he knew Mr. Chen was right.
The swap was instant.
Power surged through JunHao’s veins, the sheer weight of his former body crashing onto him like a tidal wave. His muscles screamed with untamed strength, his chest heaving as he inhaled deeply, taking in the overwhelming presence of his returned physique.
He stood up too fast.
The moment his feet planted on the ground, his legs buckled, his balance thrown off by the sheer density of his thighs. His vision blurred from the sudden rush of testosterone. His biceps felt alien, his pecs too heavy, his core too tight. Even his…
A sudden throb between his legs sent a violent shudder up his spine.
JunHao gasped, gripping onto the nearest surface, his head spinning.
It was too much.
This wasn’t the body he had once known. It wasn’t the JunHao that had belonged to him.
It was Mr. Chen’s now.
Every single fiber, every cut of muscle, every inch of it had been reworked, refined, and perfected to serve a different master.
And it wasn’t him.
A low, knowing chuckle echoed from behind him.
JunHao turned—his body sluggish, unresponsive, as if rejecting him—and met his own smug gaze.
Mr. Chen, now in JunHao’s new, lesser body, leaned back against the chair, watching with pure amusement.
“Struggling?” Mr. Chen taunted, stretching out his arms. “Tsk. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You see, JunHao… I made this body mine.”
JunHao’s breath came out in ragged pants, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. But the heat—the sheer intensity—was relentless. His own virility overwhelmed him, the constant pulse of need to release that Mr. Chen had cultivated within his flesh rendering him helpless.
Mr. Chen tilted his head. “Go on,” he urged. “Flex. See what real power feels like.”
JunHao hesitated. But he had to. He had to prove he was still worthy.
He clenched his fists and flexed.
—And then he felt it.
A pulse at his crotch. A swelling heat that spread through his core, surging like liquid fire through his veins. His length twitched, a bead of wetness forming at the tip, his peak of energy leaking through. It was uncontrollable—unstoppable.
He looked down, mortified, as a small wet patch seeped through the fabric.
Mr. Chen laughed. Loud, cocky, knowing.
“Oh? You’re already leaking?” he taunted, shaking his head. “You haven’t even done anything yet.”
JunHao clenched his fists, his face burning with a mix of shame and undeniable pleasure.
He instantly crumpled.
His biceps surged, his chest tightened, his abs contracted—and the sheer intensity of it sent a violent jolt straight to his core. His cock throbbed, a sharp, unrelenting ache shooting through his body as his knees buckled. His breath hitched, sweat dripping down his temple as he fought to regain control.
Mr. Chen laughed.
A deep, rich, dominant laugh.
JunHao was drowning in the sheer masculinity of his former body.
Mr. Chen stood, rolling his shoulders, smirking as he stepped forward, pressing a firm hand against JunHao's shoulder.
Mr. Chen knew.
And right now, what was supposed to be his body was begging for release.
Mr. Chen was relentless. His hands explored every ridge of muscle, his grip firm, possessive. He knew exactly where to touch, where to press, where to command the body to respond.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Mr. Chen reached forward and grabbed JunHao’s thick, trembling thigh. His grip was firm, possessive—his fingers digging into the hard-earned muscle that once belonged to JunHao.
Junhao moaned, his body jerking under the touch.
“Oh?” Mr. Chen purred, his other hand trailing up to squeeze JunHao’s massive pec, feeling the firm weight of it beneath his palm. “Sensitive, are we?”
JunHao barely managed to choke out a response. His jaw clenched, his chest heaving, his body on fire.
Mr. Chen leaned in, his breath hot against JunHao’s ear. “You don’t have control over it anymore, do you?” he whispered, fingers tracing over every ridge of muscle, every overcharged nerve ending. “Your own body listens to me now.”
A violent shudder racked through JunHao as another pulse shot through him, a fresh surge of wetness spreading at his crotch. His hands clawed at Mr. Chen’s arms, gripping onto him for stability, his mind blank with raw sensation.
“You feel that?” Mr. Chen whispered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “This body isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine. It only responds to me—my dominance, my discipline, my drive.” He grinned, leaning in closer.
Mr. Chen grinned, loving every second of JunHao’s struggle.
“Don’t hold back,” he taunted, voice smooth, commanding. “Let it happen.”
JunHao’s breath hitched. His entire being was teetering on the edge, the unbearable pressure inside him reaching its breaking point.
And then—
The floodgates burst open.
A choked cry tore from JunHao’s lips as the biggest release of his life crashed over him, his body seizing under the sheer force of it. His abs clenched, his legs trembled, and his cock throbbed violently, unleashing everything he had. JunHao thought that once he had released again in his body, he would feel back at home... like a soft reset.
But it was different. The sensation was too much—his mind white-hot with pleasure, his body locked in pure, uncontrollable bliss.
He could feel it, every rope of release, every pulse, his senses overloaded to the point of devastation.
Mr. Chen’s laughter rumbled low in his throat.
“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a hand through JunHao’s soaked, trembling form. “Ruined. Completely undone by your own body.”
JunHao collapsed, gasping for air, his limbs too weak to even support him. His vision swam, his muscles shaking, his mind reeling from the sheer intensity of it all.
It wasn’t just a release—it was something deeper, something that reached inside him and rewrote the pleasure itself. Every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire, burning with a new, unfamiliar ecstasy.
And then… the horror set in.
Because no matter how good it felt—no matter how perfect it was—he couldn’t enjoy it.
It wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him anymore. The pleasure, the power, the control—it all belonged to Mr. Chen. JunHao was just a passenger now, trapped in the very body he once owned, feeling everything but owning nothing. The orgasm he had felt like it was meant for someone else. Someone more cocky, someone more worthy of his body's potential.
Mr. Chen smirked, watching as realization dawned on JunHao’s face, the aftershocks still rolling through his trembling form. “Now you understand,” he murmured. “This isn’t your body anymore.” He leaned in, his breath hot against JunHao’s ear.
“See?” he murmured. “You don’t own this body anymore. It owns you.”
Junhao whimpered, the sound humiliating—degrading.
Mr. Chen leaned in, voice dripping with amusement.
JunHao’s body shuddered. His pride shattered.
And for the first time, he truly knew what it meant to be owned.
“You’re not worthy of it,” he whispered. “And you never will be again.”
And with that—he took it back.
The swap snapped into place.
JunHao was ripped from the overwhelming power, shoved back into his weaker body, gasping as the sheer absence of strength left him hollow. He fell to his knees, panting, shaking, his head spinning.
Mr. Chen, now back in his rightful body, “Damn,” he exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “That was fun.” He glanced down at Junhao, who knelt before him—defeated, wrecked, utterly submissive.
The moment his mind settled into its true vessel, a slow, satisfied exhale escaped his lips. The lingering warmth, the twitching aftermath of pleasure, the residual echoes of JunHao’s devastating release—it was all still there. His muscles pulsed with power, his skin tingling, his core tight with an aftershock of pleasure that made him let out a low, pleased groan.
This was his body.
And it felt incredible.
Mr. Chen flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders, feeling the residual shudders coursing through his sculpted frame. His pecs still twitched, his thighs burned, and down below, his cock still throbbed—not out of need, but out of pure, overwhelming satisfaction.
He grinned. JunHao had done well.
The sensation was different—a release that wasn’t fully his own, yet one he now owned entirely. The echoes of JunHao’s climax belonged to him, his nerves still alight with the pleasure he had stolen back.
Mr. Chen stretched, the flex of his dominant, powerful muscles sending a fresh pulse of testosterone through his veins. His body was radiating heat, still fresh from its most recent eruption.
A chuckle rumbled from his throat as he glanced down at JunHao—now slumped in the weaker body, his expression dazed, his skin flushed, his chest rising and falling in exhausted gasps.
"Pathetic," Mr. Chen muttered, dragging a finger along his rock-hard abs, still glistening from the mess that had just been claimed. “You couldn’t even handle one round in MY body.”.
Mr. Chen smirked, rolling his shoulders before reaching down to remove his sneakers—his sneakers, though they had been thoroughly worked in by JunHao’s sweat and struggle. The moment he slipped them off, a thick, heady musk filled the air—pure testosterone, pure ownership.
He lifted one sneaker to his face, inhaling deeply.The moment the scent hit him, his cock twitched again. Thick, indulgent musk—a mixture of sweat, testosterone, and dominance—clung to the well-worn fabric, a tangible reminder of his endless workouts, his relentless perfection. His cock twitched instantly, his body reacting viscerally to the proof of its own greatness. Every moment that JunHao had taken, every ounce of effort he had put in, all of it had been absorbed into his sneakers, his body, his essence.
His cock—already semi-hard from the lingering echoes of his last eruption—gave an urgent throb, pulsing with a new demand.
His breathing grew heavier as he pressed the sneaker to his face, savoring the potent musk. This was what it meant to own a body—to dominate it, to break it in, to let its very scent mark him as the true master. His cock throbbed, swollen with undeniable arousal, and the moment he ran a hand down his sculpted abs, feeling the sweat still clinging to his perfect skin—
He barely had time to smirk before it happened.
A sudden, uncontrollable convulsion ran through his body, his muscles tightening, his veins surging with liquid fire. His balls ached, still swollen from the first massive release, but they had more to give.
His breath hitched. His grip on the sneakers tightened.
The semen gates burst open once again. Thick ropes of his pent-up dominance shot forth, his entire body trembling with the force of it. His toes curled, his calves flexed, his pecs tensed, and a deep, guttural moan escaped his lips—unfiltered, primal, completely unrestrained.
He couldn’t stop it.
He didn’t want to stop it.
The realization only made him cum harder.
The sheer masculinity of it, the undeniable proof of his superiority, his raw virility—it sent him spiraling into another relentless high.
His chest heaved, his vision blurred, his senses overwhelmed by the musk still flooding his lungs.
When the last wave finally subsided, he stood there, shaking, drenched in the aftershocks of his own overwhelming potency.
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.
“Two releases… in under ten minutes.” His voice was thick with smug satisfaction as he wiped a streak of his own warm release from his abs. “I really am… too much for even myself.”
His cock throbbed, standing hard and proud, a testament to his unmatched virility.
He grabbed his sneakers again, pressed his nose deep into the soaked fabric, and took a long, indulgent inhale—letting the raw, intoxicating essence of his own manhood flood his senses.
The effect was instant.
A sharp jolt shot down his spine, his muscles flexing involuntarily, his thighs tensing, his balls tightening with that all-too-familiar aching fullness.
“Oh fuck… would you look at that?” he groaned, gripping his pulsing shaft, feeling the veins bulge against his palm.
His body wanted it.
His body demanded it.
And who was he to deny his own greatness?
He spread his stance wider, his thick quads tensing, his calves flexing, his entire physique pulsing with the sheer excess of power coursing through him.
Then, with a deep, guttural growl, he gave in.
The third floodgate burst open—violently, relentlessly, like a dam finally giving way to a tidal wave of raw, unrestrained virility.
Thick, hot ropes of dominance shot out with explosive force, coating his perfected form, marking his superiority with every pulse of release.
His pecs tensed, his biceps flexed, his veins throbbed, his body shook with the sheer magnitude of his own masculinity.
And fuck—he’d never felt more powerful.
He gasped, chest heaving, dripping in the aftermath of his third release in under fifteen minutes.
“FUCK, Three.” He let out a deep, cocky laugh, rubbing his own thick, leaking tip against his streaked abs, letting the evidence of his undeniable virility spread across his godlike body.
“And I’m still not fucking done.”
He took another deep breath, letting the lingering scent of his own perfection fill him.
And the ache in his cock told him—he wasn’t even close to done.
As his climax faded, Mr. Chen exhaled with satisfaction, rolling his neck before looking down at JunHao, who lay covered in three releases worth of his former body's essence.
“Consider that,” Mr. Chen panted, still riding the high, “your final lesson.” He tossed the sneaker onto JunHao’s chest, smirking.
“This body was never yours to begin with.”
Mr. Chen—no, JunHao—stood before the mirror, taking in his godlike form with an undeniable sense of ownership. His massive chest rose and fell steadily, his muscles pumped and primed, glistening under the soft glow of the room’s lighting.
He flexed an arm, watching his bicep peak, veins pushing to the surface like rivers of pure dominance.
This was his body now.
The true JunHao.
The only JunHao.
The moment that weak, the former version stepped out of this body a second time, he left behind everything that made him worthy. His confidence, his hunger, his overwhelming virility—all of it absorbed, enhanced, perfected by the superior mind now in control.
JunHao ran his hands down his hardened abs, feeling the power coursing through him, knowing that every ounce of testosterone, every drop of essence, every intoxicating trait had been claimed, amplified, and made absolute.
He grinned—not just with satisfaction, but with the pure, unshakable knowledge that this body had finally reached its true potential.
And it was his.
“JunHao Chen…” He whispered the name to himself, letting it roll off his tongue like a declaration of superiority.
Yes. This was who he was.
The perfect name for the perfect mind, controlling the perfect body.
There was no one before him.
There would be no one after him.
Only JunHao.
Always.
